Still Here
by Erika
Summary: Sometimes friendship cannot be explained in words and can only be understood by the simplest of actions: the decision to stay.


**Title:** Still Here

**Author:** Erika

**Rating:** PG

**Summary:** Sometimes friendship cannot be explained in words and can only be understood by the simplest of actions: the decision to stay.

**Timeframe:** Takes place during Remus' and Sirius' seventh year and just before OotP.

**Spoilers:** For PoA, OotP

**Category:** Angst, POV

**Disclaimers:** Hogwarts and all of its characters belong to JK Rowling, I'm only borrowing them to have a little fun and I promise to return them unharmed (well, at least mostly unharmed =0). I'm making no money from this and this is written for entertainment purposes only.

**Feedback:** Both positive feedback and _constructive_ criticism are greatly appreciated and will be cherished!

**Archive:** Please ask first. =)

**Author's Note: **The first part of this can sort of be seen as a sequel to "Watching the Horizon." I've done my best to explain all of the important stuff in the two parts of this story, but you'll definitely get more out of it if you read that story first. The second part of this can sort of be seen as a prequel to "You Never Know" but you don't have to read that story to understand this one. There are actually references to many of my stories here, including "Moonlit Perdition," "Changes Us," and "Phantom Prisons."

**Still Here**

**Remus:**

Madam Pomfrey and I made the journey to the Whomping Willow in silence. When we reached the gnarled tree I told her that I would continue alone and asked her to please make sure its deadly branches did not stay immobilized after I entered. She hesitated visibly but did not comment on my request despite the question in her eyes. I had never come to her an hour early. I had never entered the Shrieking Shack alone. Until now, she had always stayed with me until just before moonrise. Until now, Sirius had almost always been with us.

Fortunately, she didn't protest. She merely nodded. After I crawled into the hidden entrance at the base of the Whomping Willow, she did not follow me. For the first time, I walked down the dark, narrow passageway alone. When I reached the accursed Shack, I methodically undressed myself and stored my clothes and wand in the cupboard, where they would be safe from the wolf.

Trembling from more than just the cold, I retreated to a corner of the room and leaned back against the clawed and blemished wall. Tiredly, fearfully, I let myself slide down until I was sitting with my knees hugging my chest. Moonrise wasn't for over an hour but it didn't matter. This was simply easier than waiting for it in the dormitory.

Sighing, I closed my eyes.

Being a werewolf was not something I would ever get used to. I would always approach every full moon with the same trepidation, the same _terror_. No matter how many times I transformed, the change would always be more painful than I expected. The uncontrollable madness that accompanied that change would always be sickening; losing myself would always be horrifying. It didn't matter that I barely remembered my life before being bitten and that this existence was basically all I knew. Being a werewolf would never be _easy_ and I would never get _used to_ it.

How could I get used to being a monster?

For nearly seven years I had myself convinced that the popular belief in the Wizarding world was wrong, that I wasn't a dark creature. For nearly seven years I had lived in ignorance, listening to the words of my mum and dear friends. All my life, my mum had told me that my condition was something beyond my control, that it didn't change who I was. In the beginning, I hadn't believed her. If I was innocent then why did the kids at school torment me? Why had one of them nearly killed me? If I was innocent, why did the Healers treat me so coldly and with such obvious disgust? If I wasn't a monster, why did everyone believe that I was?

Then, thanks to the kindness of one Headmaster, I was able to attend Hogwarts. Here, I had made three wonderful friends. James, Sirius, and Peter. Though they were all brilliant, it was Sirius who had changed everything. It was Sirius who had gone out of his way to befriend me, it was Sirius who had gone out of his way to comfort me when I awoke from nightmares I was too frightened to share with him. It was Sirius who had discovered I was a werewolf and not turned away from me. It was Sirius who had sworn to never let me spend another full moon alone.

When he had first told me that, I hadn't believed him. I had believed that he _meant_ it at the time but I had never thought he would actually fulfill his promise. He was energetic and uncontrolled. How could someone like him have the patience to spend an entire night locked in a hallway while a bloodthirsty monster raged in the connecting room?

For the first six months I had gone into every full moon with the same expectation: that Sirius would not be there. Month after month, he had proved me wrong. Month after month, as I'd been leaving for the Whomping Willow, he had fallen into step beside me, silently accompanying me to a fate that I would never become accustomed to, never shed my fear of. Even still, I would doubt his presence the following morning. After each night spent in wild, primal fury, I would regain awareness expecting to be alone. Instead, I would find Sirius sadly tending my self-inflicted wounds to the best of his abilities.

It had been during one of those quiet moments, when he was wiping the blood from my skin, that I had seen something that changed my mind. It was a truth revealed by the depths of his eyes. Those expressive blue-grey orbs, filled with such acute sorrow, had shown me that to Sirius, only one thing mattered: that I was his friend. For his friend – for _me_ – Sirius would do anything. He would wait the long hours between moonrise and moonset if he thought it would help me.

It was then – for the first time in so many years – that I had first _believed_ that I wasn't a monster. If Sirius could look past the curse, if he could see the monster take form month after month, if he could hear the howls and witness the madness that overcame me, if he could do all that and still consider me a friend then maybe, _maybe_… Maybe my mum was right. Maybe Sirius was right. Maybe I really wasn't a dark creature.

I had never doubted Sirius again. I had come to expect his presence during the full moons, depend on it even. When James and Peter discovered my condition and expressed the same belief that Sirius had – that it didn't change anything – I was happier than I'd ever been before. When the three of them became Animagi for me I was thrilled. Even the guilt that always accompanied the scratches, bites, and scars that I gave my friends during our full moon adventures didn't spoil my joy. Even the time that Moony had almost killed Padfoot – the time that _I_ had almost killed _Sirius_ – hadn't challenged my belief that I wasn't a monster.

It was simply easier to listen to the words of my mum, the words of my friends, than to question my own inner darkness. If they could look past the beast and forgive me for everything I did as a wolf, then I could live with myself. But now my mum was dead and Sirius had seen me for what I really was. More importantly, _I_ had seen myself for what I really was.

The last blue moon had brought with it a clarity that nothing else could have. Robbed of my ability to take the potion that would have counteracted the effects of last month's second full moon, I had lost myself to the animal inside me. I'd tried. I'd tried _so hard_ to control the wolf, to stay sane and _human_ but I'd failed. For the first time in my life, the madness had come without the transformation. I'd been myself – _Remus Lupin_ – but with all the anger and brutality of a monster. If Sirius hadn't turned me in, if the Ministry hadn't locked me away, I would have… God. I didn't want to think about what I would have done. A wolf in human form.

And now I couldn't deny it anymore. I was a monster. How could I be anything else? A normal person didn't need to be imprisoned to prevent him from harming his friends. A normal person didn't need to take a potion every two-and-a-half years – every blue moon – to prevent him from trying to kill his friends. A normal person wasn't at the mercy of an orb in the sky. A normal person could control his own actions and didn't hurt – didn't maim or bite or scratch – the people he loved.

Sirius could disagree all he wanted, could tell me that he didn't hold me responsible for my actions last month, but how could I believe him? How could he believe himself? Especially after what he had seen? Before last month it had been easy for him to distinguish us in his mind, the wolf and the boy. He had seen the wolf emerge from my form, had seen me turn into it, but until now it had been easy for him to split us. It had been easy for him to think that it was something _else_, something separate from me. Now he knew about the blue moons, now he knew that unless I took a potion, I could be the wolf without turning into it.

He hadn't said anything of the kind – had in fact done the opposite and assured me that it wasn't my fault, that none of it was my fault – but I knew he had to be thinking it. How could he not? How could he still believe that I was innocent and human after what I had done? After what he had seen me do? I had nearly killed him. Not the wolf. _Me_. With my own hands and fists, I had nearly pounded the life from his body. How could he forgive me for that?

I _wanted_ to believe him. I wanted to listen to his reassurances and believe that he meant them but… I couldn't. Not anymore. In the beginning, I had, right after the Ministry had released me. But as the days lengthened into weeks my doubts had grown in tandem with the waxing moon until I simply couldn't allow myself to accept his words.

I couldn't stand the thought of losing him, though. I couldn't stand the thought of him realizing what I already knew. So I had distanced myself from him, had avoided him as much as possible because I couldn't bear to have him tell me that he was done, that he wouldn't be here during the full moons anymore. And that was why I was here an hour early. The thought of waiting in the dormitory, of watching the minutes tick by and finally having to admit that Sirius wasn't coming, was more than I could stand.

It was easier this way. It was just easier. I–

"Remus?"

What? I opened my eyes. Sirius? He was…_here_? He was actually here? I stared at him in disbelief, not knowing what to say.

"_Remus_," he repeated, voice holding more kindness than I merited. Standing across the room, near the entrance to the Shack, he watched me in critical silence. I felt a pang of guilt upon seeing how worried he was. I wanted to tell him that I didn't deserve it, that I didn't deserve anything he had ever done for me, but my lips refused to cooperate.

He was here. He was going to spend the full moon with me – as always. For him, it was like nothing had changed. My God, he really believed it. Everything he had told me when I'd been released from the Confinement Center…he actually believed it. He really thought that it wasn't my fault, that I wasn't a monster because I hadn't been in control of my actions. He didn't care that I'd beaten him until bruises had stiffened his face and his blood had dripped from my hands. He had every intention of transforming into Padfoot tonight and helping ease the madness that the full moon brought. When I changed back, he had every intention of cleaning my wounds and taking care of me.

Sirius crossed the room in four strides. Removing his overcoat, he spread it out over my body. Instinctively, I huddled into its warmth. "It's bloody freezing in here, Moony," he chastised concernedly. "Are you trying to give yourself hyperthermia?" It wasn't the question he wanted to ask but it was the only one he did ask. He wanted to know what was wrong with me; he wanted to know why I'd left an hour early without telling him or the others. He wanted to know if I was okay. He didn't ask, though. Instead, he simply sat by my side and placed a hand on my back.

I wanted to tell him that he shouldn't be here, that his getting hurt wasn't worth making things better for me. I wanted to explain the truth to him so that he'd stop investing his time and emotions in someone that wasn't worth the trouble. I wanted to make him see that I was a monster and forever silence my inner conflict, the one that centered on listening to my friends or listening to my fears, but I couldn't. I wasn't strong enough. I never had been. I wanted him to stay. I wanted the kindness and comfort of his presence. I wanted it badly enough to let him get hurt. Again.

I was a coward. I would never be able to refuse his obvious caring, his unconditional friendship. And it _was_ unconditional, unconditional beyond my ability to understand. Sirius had seen me transform into a wolf and rip the Shrieking Shack to shreds. He had seen me tear and claw at myself until I was nothing more than a bundle of fur and blood. As Padfoot he had born an attack that had turned a majestic dog into a lump of barely breathing flesh. As himself, he had tried to reason with a sense of rationality that was rapidly being devoured by the approaching blue moon only to have me nearly kill him.

He had seen me at my very worst and still he offered his loyalty and understanding. He was a better friend than I ever would have thought possible, a better friend than I was in return, because despite everything he had endured, despite it all, he still saw the good inside me – the good I myself couldn't see – and elevated it above everything else. I wanted to be able to tell him how much I appreciated him for that, how much I loved him, but realized that words couldn't do my gratitude justice. He _knew_ me – knew every shade of light and dark within me, of black and white – and was still here. My God. He was _still here_.

* * *

**Sirius:**

Nothing was as I remembered it. It had been years since I'd set foot in this horrible house and everything was falling apart. What had once been an extravagant, excessively neat abode was now nothing more than a ruin. So why did I still see it all the way it had been on the day of my departure? Why did I still see the darkness, the bitterness, and anger? Why did I still see myself as a child, playing hide and seek with parents that had left, abandoning me to the terror and torment of searching for people who were not there? Why did I still hear my mother, screaming that I was a disgrace, that I was no longer a Black, that I was dead to them? Why did I still feel the sorrow and hate as if all this time hadn't passed?

Why did I already feel imprisoned?

"Sirius?" Dumbledore's gentle inquiry forced me to meet his eyes and temporarily still my thoughts. "The others will begin arriving in a little over a week. I'm afraid that for the time being it is in your own best interests to remain here."

"Of course," I agreed vaguely. The Ministry was still trying to find me and Voldemort and his followers surely knew of my Animagus form by now. I would be of very little help to Harry _or_ the Order if I allowed myself to be captured by either of those groups. Of course it was in my best interests to stay here. Wasn't it?

"I've left some food in the kitchen but I will return tomorrow to make sure you have enough to last until next week," the Headmaster continued quietly, voice marked both by severity and understanding. "Now I really must be going. There are still many people who need to be informed about the Order's new headquarters."

"Until tomorrow," I murmured. On one hand I wanted to get rid of him as quickly as possible and on the other I didn't want to be alone. Not here. Not in this house.

"Good day, Sirius," Dumbledore bid me farewell as he turned and left the room. My room. My old room from when I was a child. My God. How could I be back here again? This was my family's house, the one that I had wanted to escape for so many years. There was so much bitterness in this place, so much hate. All of the arguments I'd ever had with my family – with my mother – were still written on the walls. I could still remember all of the rage and sorrow of being born to people who were so…prejudiced, intolerant, and cruel. Twelve years in Azkaban hadn't robbed me of that.

Sighing, I let myself sink down onto my bed. It was covered in dust but I didn't care.

What was I doing? What had I been thinking? Offering this place up as headquarters for the Order… Had I lost my mind? How could I ever have thought this was a good idea? Yes, we needed somewhere safe to organize the new resistance against Voldemort. Yes, this was a logical choice. No one would ever suspect we were stationed here, especially not with Dumbledore as the Secret-Keeper. But how could I ever have thought that _I_ could stay here again? Especially when the situation was so indefinite? Dumbledore had said this was 'for the time being' but we both knew that it'd be in my 'best interests' to stay here at least until Peter was recaptured. Merlin only knew when that would be.

I wasn't strong enough for this. I wasn't strong enough to live in this place and not be affected by everything that had happened here so many years ago. I wasn't strong enough to walk into this room – into any room in this house – and not be flooded with memories. Memories of my mother telling me that 'Mudbloods', their sympathizers, and all 'dark creatures', should be rounded up and eliminated, memories of Regulus ignoring me and pretending that he had no brother, memories filled with so much rage and sadness…

I wasn't strong enough to live here without being consumed by bitterness. This was the house of the people who had used Remus as a _tool_, as a means of hurting _me_! My parents had discovered that he was a werewolf and instead of trying to get him expelled, instead of trying to get another Headmaster appointed to Hogwarts, they had bided their time, waiting for an opportunity to use that knowledge against me. The blue moon during seventh year had given them what they wanted.

For werewolves, the blue moon held more than just the added torment of a second transformation in a single month. For them, the time between the first full moon and the second meant losing control and being overcome by madness while still in human form. Essentially, they became the wolf without physically transforming into one.

There was a potion, though. A potion that would allow them to retain their sanity during those times. However, that potion – the Branimir Potion – could not be taken in combination with certain other potions without being deadly to the werewolf. One of these other potions was the one given to people who suffered from internal injuries, a potion that remained in a person's system for nearly two months.

Knowing this, knowing what would happen to Remus if he couldn't take the Branimir Potion, my brother had enlisted his friends' help and used a charm to stun Remus and another to prevent him from being able to see his attackers. Then they had proceeded to beat him until blood and bruises covered his entire body, until he was barely recognizable, until he was inch away from dying. They hadn't killed him, though. Instead, they had left him for James and me to find and rush to Madam Pomfrey. Madam Pomfrey had had no other choice but to give him the potion that would stop his internal bleeding, the same potion that would prevent him from being able to take the Branimir Potion.

Because of that – because of my family – Remus had been forced to endure the effects of the blue moon and I had been forced to watch. I had watched as his humanity slipped away, as he became increasingly angry, violent, and uncontrollable. I had watched and finally been forced to make a decision, a decision to tell Dumbledore that the supplemental potion Remus was taking in lieu of the Branimir Potion wasn't working. Dumbledore, in turn, had been forced to tell the Ministry, who had sent an entire squadron of Wizards to forcibly take Remus and put him in the Werewolf Confinement Center – a horrible place beyond anyone's ability to imagine.

And it was all because of _them_: my mother, father, and brother. Remus had spent three weeks in that wretched Confinement Center, deprived of human reason and at the mercy of the hateful guards because my family had known how much it would hurt _me_. When he'd returned, he'd been covered in wounds, some self-inflicted but most the result of being beaten by the Wizards that were only supposed to make sure he didn't escape.

They had done that to him on _purpose_. Fury nearly overwhelmed me at the mere memory. God, I'd wanted to kill them upon finding out they were responsible. I'd wanted to hurt them as badly as they had hurt me, as badly as they had hurt Remus. And I would have. I would have found someway of making my brother pay for that wretched deed if it hadn't been for James. If he hadn't reasoned with me, I would have done something beyond my ability to forgive.

Frowning, I cocked my head to the side and tried to focus on the indistinct murmurings that I'd been hearing for the last few minutes but hadn't been fully aware of until now. What was that? Dumbledore… Was he talking to someone? He had told me that no one would arrive until next week. Who was he…? Probably no one. At least, no one here. He was probably using the Floo to speak with some old member of the Order.

I climbed to my feet and moved to stand in front of the window. This house would slowly drive me insane. I knew it would. I'd been here for less than an hour and already I was having to fight the bitterness that it evoked in me. A bitterness I knew would only grow the longer I remained here. I already knew how it would happen. At first I'd feel trapped and imprisoned. Before long I'd feel entirely suffocated.

So what was I doing here?

I sighed. I'd spent so many hours in this room, alternatively angry, sad, or uncertain. So uncertain. Being a Black had made me question myself so deeply. I'd hated them so much – hated them so much still – and yet when I looked at them I recognized things that I saw inside myself. The quick tempers. The impulsiveness. The instinctual desire to want to hurt people when they did something I truly disagreed with. Like when I'd wanted to kill my brother for what he had done Remus, had felt such rage that it had frightened me. It frightened me still.

I'd spent so much time and energy trying to convince myself that I wasn't like them but I had never really succeeded. How could I not be like them when it was so easy for me to hurt those people for whom I cared the most? I could remember so many times when my thoughtlessness had made me very cruel towards my good friends. I could remember times when I'd made hasty, snippy remarks that showed no consideration towards Remus' condition and the challenges he constantly faced. How could I not be like my family when my anger had caused me to betray one of my closest friends? I'd nearly gotten Snape killed and Remus executed. How did that make me any different from my family?

_Remus_.

Tomorrow night was the full moon. For the first time since proving my innocence to Remus, I wouldn't be there with him. I'd grown to depend on seeing him every month and I knew that despite the Wolfsbane Potion, the transformations were still painful and Remus liked having me there. Now he'd be alone, again. Just like he'd been alone for twelve years because we hadn't trusted each other.

He would understand but did he even know about this house being the Order's new headquarters? Had Dumbledore told him or would he expect me to arrive at his place tomorrow morning, like I usually did? I hated the thought of him waiting for me, expecting me, only to have to endure everything by himself. He was strong and had done this alone many times – more times than he ever should have – but I didn't want to disappoint him.

I sighed again. Remus' shack was protected by various spells to prevent his being located by people who were…less than sympathetic regarding his condition. I wouldn't be able to owl him or contact him by any means currently available to me. Tomorrow, when Dumbledore returned, I'd ask him to contact Remus and make sure he knew where I was and why I wouldn't be there.

The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted my thoughts. Someone was walking down the hallway. Dumbledore must have forgotten something and come back to tell me. When he entered my room, I didn't turn around to face him. I continued to stare at the window, waiting for him to speak.

Silent minutes ticked by. What was he waiting for? He–

It wasn't Dumbledore. Suddenly, I knew it wasn't Dumbledore.

Immediately, I turned around. I both was and was not surprised to see Remus standing in the doorway, watching me. He looked sad and troubled. Again, I was struck by how prematurely he had aged. Years of enduring horrible transformations had taken their toll on him, as had being forced to spend so much of his life alone. His face bore lines that spoke of the pain he had suffered, the hatred he had suffered. It saddened me to see it, to know how difficult his life was.

"Remus?" I questioned quietly, taking a step forward. What was he doing here? Dumbledore had said no one would be arriving for another week.

"Do you mind which room I take?" he asked quietly.

"What?" My mind couldn't quiet wrap itself around what he was telling me.

Wordlessly, he gestured downward. My eyes followed his movement. There was a small trunk at his feet. _His_ trunk – the one that easily stored my friend's few possessions, mostly books that he'd rather starve than do without.

I stared at it in silence. He was moving in. He was going to live here – in this house – with me. He was going to live in this house _for_ me. He wasn't here because this was going to be the new headquarters, he wasn't here because he had nowhere else to stay, he was here because he knew how difficult this was going to be for me. He was here to help. He didn't have to say it for me to know it was true.

Slowly, I met his gaze. It was filled with understanding.

"Any room is…fine," I finally responded, voice muted and choked.

He nodded. "I'll leave my things in the room next-door, then."

Sorrow battled the relief and gratitude that Remus' actions evoked. The fact that he was here meant more to me than I could say but at the same time in saddened me because I knew what would happen. Remus' presence would help immensely but this house would still get to me. The longer I was here the more aggravated and quick to anger I would become. The longer I stayed the more I'd doubt myself, doubt how different I was from the people I loathed. The longer I stayed the more I'd remember all the reasons that I hated my family.

Eventually, it would make me more irritable than usual. I would get angry at anyone who attempted to talk to me. I'd get angry all the time. I'd try to fight it. I'd try so hard but it would still happen. I would still get frustrated and lash out. If he was here, I'd lash out at him. Most of the time he'd calmly accept my words, my cruelty, but there would be other times, times that I'd hurt him. It would be unintentional but I would still hurt him.

It was hard for me to imagine without feeling some level of guilt. I couldn't let him stay here without warning him that there'd be times when I'd be insufferable and unkind. He was my friend and deserved to know what he was getting into.

"Wait," I said.

Remus, who had lifted his trunk and was about to leave the room, paused and turned back to me. "Yes?"

I swallowed. How could I explain it to him? "You know...this is going to be...hard for me."

"I know," he replied without pause.

I shook my head. "No...I mean, I'll try but...I'll be...difficult, short-tempered. It won't be...easy for you to...stay." His presence would be enough to lessen the pain of living here, enough to make it bearable, but it couldn't change the sort of person I was, no matter how much I wanted it to. For so many years I'd tried to curb my impatience and inability to remain calm and think before I spoke or acted but I couldn't. No matter what I did, no matter how deeply I regretted my actions, I couldn't stop myself from allowing my emotions to rule my better judgment. Remus wouldn't deserve half of the annoyed and ill-thought things that I was bound to say to him as this place wore at my sanity. "I'm sorry."

He smiled. It was a brief smile, tinged with sorrow and the cruel wisdom born form having to endure unimaginable levels of injustice. "I know," he repeated, more firmly this time.

I didn't know how to respond. There was nothing I could say to that. There was nothing that would accurately express how much I loved him for this. What could words convey in the face of such selflessness? He knew what living here with me was going to be like, he knew he'd be the one that my frustration and anger would often be aimed at. He knew how thoughtless I could be, knew he was opening himself up to getting hurt. He knew and was here anyway, because he was my friend and wanted to help. He was my friend and wanted to make this easier.

What had I ever done for him offer me this comfort, this string of hope to cling to? What had I ever done to deserve this friendship that he so easily gave? This friendship that was so deep that it was hard for me to understand its magnitude. Such friendship…

He _knew_ and he was still here.

THE END


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